Blog of author Sarah Deming

September 27, 2008

The First Time I Met My Husband

The first time I met my adorable husband was at a New Year's Eve party at saxophonist Bill McHenry's house. It was a costume party, and, since I didn't have a costume, I wore my boxing gear. It was a bunch of cute girls in cat outfits, and me, in oversize trunks, mouthpiece, and a female abdominal protector. Luckily the lighting was dim, so nobody noticed how much the mouthpiece made me drool.

I wound my way through the antechambers and got to the heart of the party: the room with the booze. There was some loud, abstract music and a bunch of guys in Scream masks. Then the crowd seemed to part before me, giving me my first sight of the man who was, five years later to the day, to propose marriage. He seemed to have ignored the costume rule, and he was mid-rant.

"And what really bothers me," he was saying, "is those narcissistic male writers like Updike and Roth who have no use for women."

A frisson went through me, from my wrestling shoes to my headgear. I won't say it was love at first sight, because I didn't think anyone with such good gender politics could be straight, but I definitely felt: this man and I are going to be great friends.

I was reminded of that night when Ethan blogged this great takedown of Updike by the late David Foster Wallace. TKO. It makes me want to read Infinite Jest.

I can't wait to get back to the city today after two weeks away and catch the boys at the Village Vanguard. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I was already fond...